Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards)
Page 33
“I like these comparisons.”
“I’m glad you do. And yet, you are laughing.”
“That is true, but I hope my laughter does not wound you—you are already wounded enough. I laugh from pleasure, and because I must laugh in the face of such compliments, lest they turn my head.”
“I am glad you are not laughing at me, at any rate, for my self-love could not stand the anguish.”
“Be reassured.”
“Well, what of the polychords? One cannot have an orchestra without them.”
“Your hands will be the polychords, each finger ringing a different note.”
“Well, what next? The idiophones, by which I mean the clappers, knockers, and cymbals?”
“These will be taken by the beating of your heart, which encloses my own in its gentle rhythms.”
“Ah, ah! You are a poet, sir.
“And are there, then, membranophones as well?”
“But surely, madam, your legs are the membranophones, for they support the orchestra, and can as well exhibit grace, elegance, and beauty.”
“You are making me blush.”
“You do so prettily.”
“It seems we have nearly completed our orchestra, except for the organophone, which must only be played by a master, yet which can produce music which excites, terrifies, stupefies, or calls up any of countless other emotions, all with the subtlest touch of the fingers.”
“Oh, madam, no gentleman could be so crude as to detail the location of this most sacred of all instruments.”
“Ah, now I am blushing and laughing at once, and my dignity is gone forever. I will never forgive you.”
“But have I convinced you, at least, that you are worthy of discussion?”
“I assure you, I surrender fully. What do you want to know?”
“What else but everything?”
“Everything is a great deal. Where shall I begin?”
“Tell me of your family.”
“My mother was Countess of Whitecrest; now she lives in Adrilankha and will become Dowager upon my return, for she has never loved governing. Still, we have interest in shipping, and in certain insurance companies, and even in a small bank. Mother saw to my training with the sword, and what little magic I know.”
“Well, that is your mother. What of your father?”
“He was Baron of Fourleaguewood, but he gave up his title to wed my mother, and now he lives with her in Adrilankha. His father once performed some service—I do not know what—for Her Majesty, and it was upon this service that he called when I expressed a desire to spend a few years at court, in order to come to understand better the workings of the Empire, so that I could better govern my fief. A plan,” she added, sighing, “which I must now abandon.”
“Have you brothers, sisters?”
“None at all.”
“I shall be pleased to meet your mother and father.”
“And I, too, shall be pleased for you to meet them. But what of you?”
“Come, remember our agreement. We will speak of me later, though there is little enough to tell.”
“You wish me to continue, then?”
“I should like nothing better.”
“What else, then, do you wish to know?”
“What food do you enjoy?”
“Ah, I am from Adrilankha, with boasts Valabar’s, with which even His Majesty’s greatest feasts cannot compare.”
“In truth?”
“As I live and breathe. Every wine worthy of the name, from the Empire, from the island kingdoms, from the Serioli, and even from the East—all are gathered in the cellars of Valabar’s, and each is allotted its proper place as a companion to some specialty of the house, all of which are treats to the senses. In truth, Valabar’s has spoiled me for most food, so you perceive it is a curse as well as a blessing.”
“You must bring me to this house.”
“I will do so.”
“Tell me more.”
“About food?”
“Or something else.”
“What, then?”
“Your philosophy?”
“You pretend I have a philosophy?”
“Everyone has a philosophy.”
“Well, you are right, but to describe mine would take more time than we have, for, see, here is your house before us.”
“Ah, you are right, we are at our journey’s end. Dismount, then, for I must return to the Palace.”
“How, to the Palace? But you are wounded!”
“On the contrary, though a little lightheaded, I am feeling more alive than I have in years. I must see His Majesty and report on the results of the commission he gave me, after which, I promise, I will visit His Majesty’s own physicker and return to you as soon as ever I can.”
“Very well, I will not stand between you and your duty, but have a care for your health, for I do not wish my work to be wasted.”
“I will be careful. And you, what will you do?”
“I? Oh, I will put the orchestra in tune in preparation for the next concert.”
After leaving Daro at the door, Khaavren turned toward the Palace. A certain euphoria, with which all lovers will be familiar, remained with him as he rode. Yet as he made his way closer to the Palace, the realizations both of the failure of his mission and of his duty to His Majesty, gained pre-eminence in his thoughts, wherefore this euphoria, though still present, fell into the background, as it were, of his thinking, replaced both by a certain disappointment, and a feeling of urgency and even impatience.
We should say, in fact, that Khaavren’s impatience upon leaving the Palace was nothing to his impatience upon his return, for, whatever was to happen, he knew that His Majesty must be informed at once. Therefore, when he heard someone say, “I beg your pardon, my dear Captain,” even as he was dismounting from his horse, a brown gelding called Champer, he could not help but feel a certain annoyance, which at once transferred itself to the caller, whose voice Khaavren had not, we should add, recognized by sound.
He did his best, however, to hide his impatience and assume a pleasing countenance as he turned to see who beckoned him. It happened to be a certain Lord Vernoi, a Phoenix noble whom Khaavren recognized from having seen him at court. Khaavren bowed, saying, “Yes, my lord? I believe you have called out to me?”
“Yes, my dear Khaavren, I have called out, for I wish two words with you before you continue on your way.”
“I will grant you two words,” said Khaavren, handing his horse over to the care of the groom. “Yet, in good conscience, I can scarcely permit more. Not, you perceive, of my own will, but rather because of His Majesty’s orders, which do not allow me any leisure, but, on the contrary, must be carried out without a moment’s delay.”
“I will be terse,” said Vernoi, “for I have no wish to interfere with His Majesty’s orders.”
“Very well,” said Khaavren. “Then speak, for I am listening.”
“And yet—Captain, you seem unusually pale.”
“It is nothing, a mere scratch.”
“Is that why you are pressing your hand to your side, and have that bandage around your head?”
“The very reason. But, come, speak your question, for I promise you I can spare no time.”
“Very well, since you will have it so.”
“I will.”
“This is it, then: Do you know the Princess Loudin?”
“That is your question?”
“Nearly. My question concerns her, which is why I ask.”
“Well, I have seen her, if I am not mistaken. Was she not, some years ago, one of Her Majesty’s maids of honor, and is she not now the Phoenix Heir?”
“The very woman. She resigned some eighty years ago, upon the occasion of our marriage.”
“How, you married one of Her Majesty’s maids of honor?”
“Why, that is exactly what I did.”
“Allow me to congratulate you, my lord; for the notion of marrying a maid of honor has, in my opinion, a
great deal in its favor.”
Vernoi bowed and said, “It is, however, my wife who is causing me a certain measure of concern.”
“How, concern?”
“Exactly. And it is this concern which has led me to bespeak you and, what is more, to take you into my confidence, if you will allow me to do so.”
“Ah. You wish to take me into your confidence?”
“If I may, Captain.”
“Then let us take two steps out of the door, and if you will speak in a low voice, well, I do not believe that anything we say will be overheard.”
“It is good,” said Vernoi as he followed Khaavren’s advice, “that you are aware of the danger of being overheard—for much is overheard in the Palace, and most of it is overheard only in part, which leads to rumors, many of which are wrong.”
“That is true,” said Khaavren. “We breathe rumors every day, forsooth, and catch whispers of the air.”
“Exactly. And, my dear Captain, some of these rumors are nothing short of terrifying to one in my position.”
“In your position?”
“Yes.”
“But, then, what is your position?”
“I should say, rather, in my wife’s condition.”
“Her—”
“She is with child, Captain.”
“How, she is with child? I give you joy, my lord, with all my heart!”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“But, these rumors—”
“Ah! Yes. I have heard rumors of possible disturbances in the city.”
“Oh, you have heard that?”
“Exactly. And, Captain, if anyone would know, it would be you, and I fear for my wife’s safety. I would not normally have such fears, Captain, for the Gods know there is nowhere a more deadly hand with a blade, or a woman more able to defend herself. Yet, she is not only with child, she is great with child, and may be taken to bed at any time. So, you perceive, if there is cause for fear, I wish to move her at once. Yet, I do not wish to disturb her with such a move if there is no reason. So, come, Captain, I trust you. Tell me what I ought to do.”
Khaavren looked into Vernoi’s honest face, and remembered the look of the empty encampment, and the orders he had given, and the broadsheets he had read, and even the faces he had seen as he traversed the streets.
Then he dropped his voice and said, “My lord, if you care for your wife and your unborn child, then lose not a moment, but send her out of the city at once.”
Vernoi looked at him solemnly, then bowed once and walked back into the Palace. He was running by the time he reached the door.
Chapter the Twenty-second
Which Treats of How Pel Treats Investigation,
How Mica Treats Srahi to Dinner,
How His Majesty Treats with His Advisers,
And How the Physicker Treats Wounds.
BY THE TIME KHAAVREN CAUGHT up with His Majesty, the Emperor had finished his supper, which Khaavren considered a stroke of luck; for the supper, and Her Majesty’s annoyance, would not have prevented Khaavren from causing himself to be announced at once, yet must have led to an unpleasantness that Khaavren would, to say the least, not have enjoyed—the more so because, after overhearing her conversation with Daro, he feared that he would have no small difficulty in restraining his tongue should the Consort direct any ironic words in his direction. We should add, however, that this reflection, involving as it did the concept of supper, did make Khaavren realize that he had not eaten that day, and he resolved to remedy this omission as soon as possible. His Majesty, escorted by the Consort and by Thack, was on his way to the baths when Khaavren found him.
The Emperor, upon hearing Khaavren’s gentle cough, turned, and cast his gaze over the Captain’s grim countenance, dust- and blood-covered clothing, pale complexion, and trembling posture. “Well, my dear Captain,” he said. “You seem to have met with some misfortune.”
The Consort, turning at the same time as the Emperor, also looked upon Khaavren’s worn visage and grim countenance, and she took a single step to the side, realizing, no doubt, that a matter of some urgency was about to be discussed, and that she should therefore stay out of the way; yet Noima was, for her own reasons, unwilling to allow whatever intelligence was to pass between Emperor and soldier to also pass out of range of her hearing.
Khaavren, we should add, paid no attention to the Consort except to bow to her before addressing His Majesty, which he did in these terms: “Yes, Sire, I have met with a most grievous misfortune.”
“And that is? If there is a question of misfortune, I wish to hear about it at once.”
“Sire, I have failed in the task you did me the honor to assign me.”
The Orb darkened, and with it, His Majesty’s countenance. “How, you failed, Captain?”
“It gives me pain to confess it, Sire.”
“And yet, you have never failed before to my mind.”
“Sire, everything that happens must, on some occasion, happen for the first time, and there is little that will never happen at all.”
“You are a philosopher, Captain?”
“Yes, Sire, or a soldier, if it please you; ’tis hard enough to choose between them.”
“How so? Please explain, for you perceive these observations interest me exceedingly.”
“The soldier thinks with his sword, the philosopher kills with his pen, yet each is ruthless enough.”
“Well, I understand what you are saying.”
“In fact, Sire, I am saying that, to-day, Your Majesty would have been better off with a philosopher who could ride and fence, rather than a soldier with a ready wit.”
“You say that because, there being an occasion for everything, on this occasion you have failed.”
“Yes, Sire.”
His Majesty sighed, as if attempting to calm himself, although the Orb remained a dark and brooding red. “Tell me how it happened.”
“Sire, my thought was to proceed alone to effect Adron’s arrest.”
“Alone? And why alone, Captain?”
“Because, Sire, he is surrounded by an army.”
“Well, of this I am aware. And so?”
“Sire, it seemed to me that, should he wish to do battle, all of my battalion together would be insufficient, and if he did not, well, I would not require anyone else.”
“Well, I understand. Then I take it that he did not choose to be arrested?”
“He did not, Sire. He posted soldiers at the entrance to his camp, and they prevented me from passing.”
“They prevented you?”
“Effectively, Sire.”
“How many?”
“They numbered three.”
“Well, I can hardly fault you for failing to defeat three of Lord Adron’s best soldiery. And yet, it seems that if you had brought a good company, matters might have fallen out differently.”
“That may be true, Sire. And yet, if I may be permitted to disagree with my sovereign, His Highness was expecting me to appear with support, and had posted the three Dragonlords there only to give warning—Your Majesty may recall that the Breath of Fire Battalion, above all else, is skilled in moving and attacking quickly. Moreover—”
“Yes? Moreover?”
“Your Majesty did me the honor to say that I could not be expected to defeat three of His Highness’s soldiers.”
“Yes, and if I did?”
“Alas, Sire, if my only goal was the defeat of these soldiers, I should feel naught but triumph.”
“How is that?”
“Well, Sire, I still live, and they—”
“Yes, and they?”
“They do not.”
“How, you killed all three of them?”
“I had that honor, Sire. Yet, in the course of the discussion, which I assure Your Majesty grew tolerably warm, they wounded me so that for several moments I knew nothing, and were it not for a friend who came to my aid as I lay on the ground, I do not doubt that I should still be there, dead
or alive, as chance would have it.”
“I see.” His Majesty sighed once more. “So, we have been checked, and Adron is a rebel.”
“Yes, Sire, Adron is a rebel. And it is true that we have been checked, although—”
“Yes?”
“I have only failed for the moment—the final throw has not yet been played.”
“Indeed, Captain? Please expand on this statement, for you perceive I find it of great interest.”
“Sire, Adron has left with his entire battalion, and, moreover, I was, as I have had the honor to explain, attacked as I attempted to carry out Your Majesty’s order. What I have not yet told Your Majesty is that I was given, in his name, a message to deliver to Your Majesty.”
“A message?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“And the message takes what form?”
“Sire, His Highness will submit to arrest, he says, when he is offered an apology from Your Majesty for the insult he pretends you have done his daughter by having her rooms searched and her property seized.”
The Orb darkened still further, and Khaavren noticed that the Consort, who had been listening intently to the conversation, took half a step backward and quickly drew in her breath, while simultaneously covering her lips with her fingers, as if she had committed an indiscretion at dinner.
“That is what he said?” demanded the Emperor, with a certain tone of amazed disbelief.
“His very words, Sire, as they were relayed to me by the impudent soldiers who then proceeded to so effectually puncture my epidermis, though not without cost to themselves.”
“Yes? And yet?”
“Sire, as Your Majesty has done me the honor to say, this is nothing short of rebellion; hence, it would seem appropriate to engage the Warlord, and to call out Imperial Troops. That is why I say the game is not yet over.”
His Majesty pondered this for some few moments, while the Orb returned to a calmer hue. Then he said, “Give me your opinion, Captain: Does Adron think he can survive against the military might of the Empire?”
“Sire, His Highness is a military genius, and, moreover, a powerful sorcerer. I do not know what would be the final result of such a decision on Your Majesty’s part, yet I cannot but believe Your Majesty would be unwilling to permit him to escape Imperial justice. He may well know this; in fact, he probably does. Perhaps it is to him a matter of principle, or perhaps he is merely stubborn, or perhaps he expects rescue from some source of which we are not aware, or perhaps he merely has such confidence in himself and his troops that he believes he can defeat the Empire. I do not know. And yet—”